


Rest

by Mo1eculeMan



Category: Slay the Spire (Video Game)
Genre: Campfires without the songsong, Drabbles, Gen, Parallel Structure, Parallels, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21714538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mo1eculeMan/pseuds/Mo1eculeMan
Summary: A trio of drabbles written during an event on the r/fanfiction Discord, in which the three StS protagonists do anything but rest at the fireside.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21
Collections: Discord Community Archive





	Rest

The Ironclad sat at the fire, setting his sword down next to him carefully. It was that blade that’d gotten him this far.

The fire he had lit was practical in nature. Its only purpose was for light so he could sharpen his sword. He pulled his whetstone, nearly unusable after so long, and began pulling it against the edge of the sword. The blood on it didn’t faze him, and served as an adequate lubricant to his efforts.

As for heat, the burning planks were useless. The blood inside him burned brighter than the fire around him, he knew.

* * *

The Silent remained standing, staring through her mask at the fire she’d succeeded in lighting. Her knowledge of various potions had allowed her to create a fairly flammable solution from the corpse of the Lagavulin she’d just killed.

The fire she had lit was practical in nature. She’d encountered goblin muggers on her way into the City, and knew there would almost certainly be more. The chemicals on the wood burned brighter than a normal fire, and so casted sharp shadows on the derelict streets. Her cloak would keep her warm in the shadows.

It was time to wait, now.

* * *

The Defect sat down slowly, its malfunctioning leg almost giving way beneath it. The fight against the goblin muggers had left it on the brink of permanent inactivity. That wouldn’t do. There would be no aid from the Factory, it knew, nor from its former compatriots.

The fire it had lit was practical in nature. The heat allowed diversion of power from external lighting and internal heat towards its measly welder, and scrap from the City allowed it to bring itself to near-optimal levels of functionality.

Though, something about the fire helped in another way. It was… _soothing_.

How odd.


End file.
